


Slogan Blurbs: Vargas Edition

by Skeletron



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Other, Zarlaverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:53:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeletron/pseuds/Skeletron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About a year ago I was directed to a slogan generator where you input a single word or name and it fills in a blank of a company's slogan, i.e. "With a name like ____ it has to be good." These shorts are based off those slogans when filled in with names from Zarla's "Vargas".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You'll Never Put A Better Bit of Edgar on Your Knife

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Vargas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/49492) by [Zarla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/pseuds/Zarla). 



> I might update, I might not. I wrote these over a year ago and lost the link to the generator. If I'm bothered to find it again, I'll write some more. Also, this is my first fic posted here, so I'm sorry for the wall of text. I'll figure this out, argh.

It was far from a fix. Johnny still had loose springs and gears that wouldn’t turn, gears that turned freely, stripped screws that couldn’t be turned to remove faulty hardware. He was happy, he could admit that much. He admitted it openly and freely, smiling genuinely, recalling what Edgar had said. For that one moment, when Edgar’s lips moved and Johnny listened with quiet ecstasy, Johnny didn’t hate anything, nothing at all. It was a happy confusion; above all things, he never expected Edgar to say it. It wasn’t until the words were spoken that Johnny realized this was what he wanted; what he needed. He couldn’t know, after all, because nobody had ever felt that way about him before, and he never expected it of anyone, though it did often cross his clouded mind.

Edgar spoke, and when he did, it was beautiful. It continued to be beautiful for a long time. It was beautiful when Johnny took Edgar in his arms, and for once, Edgar didn’t know what to say. It was beautiful when Johnny realized Edgar’s feelings were mutual, they had always been mutual, but it went deeper than that. Edgar said one thing. Johnny felt that too, and so much more.

It was beautiful when Johnny expressed his feelings more eloquently than any words Johnny dared to use. Edgar’s expressed feelings ran through his mind as his mouth ran over Edgar’s, and he was pleasantly surprised to find Edgar and gentle as understanding as ever, reciprocating the action with soft, underwhelming enthusiasm. It was safe. More than safe; it was home.

It was beautiful when Johnny groped for the familiar touch of metal, and he fulfilled a promise made long ago. Now, with the feel of Edgar still on Johnny’s lips and dripping off his knife and all over his body, he wrapped himself in Edgar’s words, looked over Edgar’s helpless, twitching form as it lay on his bed, watching over him even though there was no real need for it. He was happy, and there was nothing else in the world except Edgar’s last words spoken to him, words that sounded of nothing but love:

“I trust you, Nny. I trust that you’d never hurt me.”


	2. It Needn't Be Hell with Edgar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny goes for a walk and the red string of fate brings him to Edgar's apartment. The ficlet itself is just as corny as this summary.

The wants of Johnny could be split into two categories: Category one, things Johnny wanted often but not constantly. Things that fell under this were Fiz-Wiz, chips, tacos, to go and see a movie, and most often, to make a person die. Category two, things Johnny wanted constantly but could never have.  
One item listed under this heading was to not be alone. On a certain night in a certain ill-kept house, this certain want pulsated above all others in the maniac’s mind. He wanted desperately to not be alone, more than he’d ever not wanted anything, it seemed. Television didn’t help as much as it usually did; it hounded him that the people on the screen were not actually there with him, and didn’t actually care.  
It would have been decidedly the perfect night to kill himself, to go above and beyond, to fly as high as Johnny could possibly ever go. A year ago, this was what Johnny would have attempted to do. He would have tried to climb higher than his mortal form would allow, and maybe finally, he could stop hating himself. Being proactive, that was what made a person worth the space they took up. Tonight, Johnny would be proactive by taking a walk. He was already halfway to the door when he decided to make this decision, so going out against the world and all Johnny hated in it was a relatively easy second step.  
Johnny had gone for walks often, though normally he had a purpose and a place to walk to. Tonight his purpose was to spend time under the sky, stretch his limbs a bit, and he had no destination, so he was free to simply follow sidewalks and dirt paths for as long as he wanted. The sight of the stars by the moon was therapeutic, enough so that Johnny could allow his mind to wander without tearing himself up. His feet and mind worked independently, carrying him in different directions, though both hoping to find something new. That wouldn’t be the case this time, as soon enough Johnny found himself in familiar territory. He was a little frustrated and more than a little disappointed, but he figured that while he was in the neighborhood he may as well make use of his time there. His feet began moving again, deliberately this time.  
The door was like Edgar in so many ways. It was a door just like all the others, but it was so much more familiar. Apartment numbers aside, any other person wouldn’t be able to tell Edgar’s door from anyone else’s. Johnny liked to think that he would.  
He knocked, and he continued knocking until Edgar clad in rumpled pajamas opened the door, glasses knocked askew as he rubbed a single eyelid in the dull blaze of the hallway lights.  
“Nny?”  
“Edgar.”  
“What…” He was going to ask what Johnny was doing here. “What time is it?”  
“You should know better than I do,” Johnny answered, inclining his head thoughtfully at Edgar. “I’m coming in.”  
Edgar conceded wordlessly, still disoriented as he pulled the door open wider and stepped aside, watching Johnny take a single long, exaggerated stride over the threshold before walking normally to the other side of the plain room, towards Edgar’s bedroom. Edgar shut the door and followed suit.  
“Alright. I’m listening.” The first words spoken between either of them in that room that night were spoken by Edgar. They weren’t annoyed, as those words usually are, instead sounding sincere: I’ll devote time to your problems. Johnny hadn’t breathed a word about why he was here and already Edgar was completely on the same page.  
Johnny, of course, was hesitant. He always was. He seated himself on Edgar’s bed, knees locked together, arms straight over his lap with his fingers clasped. “I’m lonely.”  
Edgar was doubtlessly tired, though it didn’t take concentration to realize he had to think even harder about what he said before he said it. He was tired, but that would be no excuse if he said the wrong thing and set Johnny off. “I know.”  
“I’m alone.”  
Edgar sighed, taking a seat on the side of the bed opposite Johnny and turning himself slightly. “No you’re not. If you truly were, you wouldn’t be here right now, would you?”  
“You’re always alone, aren’t you, Edgar? How do you keep it from eating you alive?” It seemed like Johnny wasn’t even listening. Why bother coming all this way when all you’re going to do is act like you’re talking to a hand puppet?  
“I ignore it, usually. Put all the bad feelings one spot and just turn away from it.”  
Johnny looked up, hands unfolding. “That-that usually works?”  
“Usually, yes. For me, at least. Not all coping strategies work with everyone.”  
“I see.” That was a disappointing footnote. He didn’t want to try and fail, and he certainly didn’t want Edgar’s advice, thus by extension, Edgar, to fail him.  
“I think it’s a good thing you came to talk to me.”  
A slight pause. “Yes. I thought you would understand.”  
The smile in Edgar’s voice was tired. “I do, though not in the way you might think. Honestly, I was feeling lonely myself.” He wasn’t alone, of course, as Johnny was. Scriabin had been silent for a long time, and either way, talking with him wasn’t anywhere near the same as talking with a physical person, and the arguing got very tired very fast.  
“You were? Weren’t you just sleeping?”  
“A person can feel even when asleep. It kind of… crept up on me. I think you’re here for a reason, a reason that goes beyond your intentions or my intentions. Either way, I want to say thank you.”  
Johnny’s eyebrow quirked, eyes narrowing almost undetectably. “This isn’t a religion thing, is it?”  
Still tired. Edgar shook his head. “No, not at all. I think that it was important enough for neither of us to be lonely that it sort of just… happened. Does that make any sense, or am I too drowsy to be forming coherent thought?” Edgar added with a chuckle. Johnny stared at him a moment, though it was too common a happening for it to be uncomfortable. He looked to his hands, which had clasped themselves again.  
“It does kind of make sense. I wasn’t even planning on coming here. I think…” Nine seconds went by. “I think this…” Twelve seconds. “Maybe it’s us.”  
“Huhm?” Tired, tired, tired.  
“Maybe I was supposed to come here… not by my intentions, not by anything’s intentions, but not coincidentally, either. And it’s definitely here that I was supposed to go, and I did… But if… If you were somewhere else, then that’s where I was supposed to be going.” Johnny fidgeted. “I don’t think I was drawn by anything, but I was drawn to you, so neither of us could be lonely.”  
Johnny glanced to Edgar again, and found that Edgar had been watching him the entire time. It was a companionable silence that passed between them, the kind that wasn’t awkward and wasn’t dangerous. It was an affirmation that Edgar agreed, however stoically, and Johnny was relieved. He was reminded too, that he didn’t have to be alone if he didn’t want to be, and that Edgar did understand, and that as long as he had this with Edgar, maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed.


	3. With a Name Like Edgar, It Has To Be Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the Diaryfic.

Lost wallets are fun. Sometimes they’re scary, but the face on this ID wasn’t scary. It was friendly and kind, if a bit distant. Maybe this guy would be interesting. Also, that name- Edgar Vargas. Edgars were proper gentlemen, of course. They spoke carefully and treated people with dignity. Maybe he wasn’t the most fun guy around, but at the same time- there was just something exciting in itself about returning lost wallets.  
Here’s his door. Knock twice, see what happens, maybe make this guy’s day. It’s opening- what is that smell?  
What… the hell? Oh god, oh god, oh god.  
“Y-you… you’re just in time. I’m almost done. You’ll be the last of it.”  
Such an angel for returning a lost wallet. Perhaps a bit too literally- just one more foot of skin was necessary to complete those 'feathery' wings.


	4. The Cream of Edgar

“Oh my god.”  
“Uh, uh, N-Nny, are you o-okay?”  
“What the HELL just- Eeww, oh my god, what is this?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!”  
“Nny, calm down! P-please, it’s natural! Oh my God…”  
“EWW, IT’S-IT’S ON MY SKIN! IT’S ON MY FUCKING SKIN!”  
“Please stop thrashing! Nny, didn’t anyone ever… teach you about this?”  
“EDGAR, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?!”  
“Nny, PLEASE! Oh! I didn’t mean to yell, just… Please stop yelling!”  
“THIS IS THE NASTIEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME! WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS EVER GOING TO BE A GOOD IDEA? THIS IS YOUR GOD DAMN FAULT EDGAR, COULDN’T YOU-”  
“Nny, it’s nobody’s fault, this is how male bodies are designed, I just-”  
“-JUST HOLD IT IN OR SOMETHING? ”  
“N-no, I-I-I-I’m sorry! Nny, I’m sorry, but this isn’t the type of thing that can be controlled!”  
“OUT OUT OUT OUT! First bring me a wet towel, and THEN GET OUT!!”  
Way to ruin the mood, Johnny.


	5. Bridge That Gap With Edgar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scriabin has his own body, but instead of acting like a functional human being he acts more like a destructive pet.

The first weeks were awkward. That was the best way to describe it- awkward, clumsy, misunderstood, sometimes even plain uncomfortable. Sometimes it got to the point where Edgar would politely excuse himself from the room, and sometimes Scriabin would make up some inane thing to yell about, the usual topic being Edgar's problems. Unfortunately, Scriabin had become about a hundred times pettier since they split in two. Of course he had; he couldn’t nitpick at Edgar for what he was thinking, so he had to point out physical flaws, and bring back to the surface the old jibes and taunts.  
Going to work was both a blessed event and a mind-numbing drag for Edgar. On the one hand, there was no Scriabin to insult him, to derail him, to get him off-course and frustrated. On the other hand, there was no Scriabin to talk to him. Nobody talked to him, so Edgar had to carry on in both internal and external silence. In the later hours of his shift Edgar began to think maybe he preferred Scriabin’s constant ranting to constant void.  
Scriabin, meanwhile, would sit at home and wait impatiently for Edgar’s return. More than once, Edgar would come home to find his apartment in some kind of disarray. One day, Scriabin flipped all of Edgar’s furniture upside-down, even going so far as to flip the heavy TV and set the stand on top of it, legs in the air, and sandwich Edgar’s mattress between the floor and the overturned bed frame. During one particularly long shift, Scriabin had the time to set up a massively convoluted Rube Goldberg machine that was set off the moment Edgar opened the door and ended with the unfurling of a small banner that read “Welcome home, douchebag” in red letters. On yet another day, Edgar came home to find that same red marker had been used to draw some very crude and inappropriate pictures on the walls. It took an entire weekend for Edgar to clean that up, while Scriabin sat idly by and talked at Edgar for hours and did nothing to help.  
It was a little worse than awkward after that, though he had made his point. Edgar didn’t dare say it to him, but he figured Scriabin must have been bored and lonely.  
He surmised Scriabin needed a hobby.


End file.
